WildCORE: Image Future Shock (Part Three)
by HawkeyePierce
Summary: In "Pocket Full of Daemonites" the WildCORE team, while en route to Earth, crashes on...Mars???!!!


That Was Then: 

**WildCORE: IFS #3  
" Pocket Full of Daemonites "  
Written by Matthew J Pierce  
Edited by Alex Cook**

That was then... Outside, Majestic struggled to slow the ship and keep its nose high all at the same time. The belly began to super-heat as it tickled the planet's outer atmosphere and Majestic squinted from the light and sensation. He held his breath, fighting to keep a hold of the Goodspeed without piercing its hull with his fingers. He grunted and growled but felt the ship slid away from him, pulling free. "No!! Just...this once...WORK! Majestic felt his fingers dig into the ship's metal frame before the friction of the atmosphere finally smacked away the Kherubim, separating him from the Goodspeed once and for all. Majestros could not find the words as he watched the ball of fire flare and speed away, becoming smaller and smaller before finally colliding with Mar's harsh surface. Once again, silence filled Mister Majestic's ears...as Mars burned beneath him. 

This is Now: The Daemonite moved through the dank and humid halls of the Phobos Monitoring Station as fast as his thin, leathery legs would carry him. Burnt out and left to rot over time, the massive facility had once been something else but that had been a little under two hundred years ago. Today it played home to an advance part of Daemonites who simply watched and waited, sending news of Earth's happenings to an eager and yet removed, Queen. Passing though the archway into the command center, the revolting creature seemed to gulp, a sack in his throat that could very well be his 'adam's apple' sliding up and down. His elongated maw opened to reveal rows of jagged teeth and a stench that could strip paint off a Buick. Before he could make a sound, however, the towering being in robes and cape spun to face him. 

"Report, K'err." 

"My Lord, sensor sweeps along the avenue of approach confirms your suspicions. Our Hunter Killers were indeed destroyed all at once." 

"And the source of the bio-blast?" 

"Majestros of Khera, my Lord." 

The Daemonite Lord let his eyes fall away and his lip formed a snarl that twisted his left nostril. "Ensure the job is finished... and bring me Mister Majestic's hollowed skull when it's done." 

* * *

A shout echoed across the desert wastes of Mars as Majestic tore through the wreckage of the Goodspeed, a Kherubim Capital ship that was transporting his fellow members of WildCORE to Earth. Moments earlier, Majestros had done all he could to prevent the hasty descent of the vessel but it was obviously not enough as evidenced by the wreckage that was strewn about for miles. Somewhere in the mass of twisted, burning metal were Majestic's friends, the other members of WildCORE who depended on him to guide the vessel safely to Mar's surface. Unfortunately, for the last several hundred years, Majestic had made a habit of letting his friends down. 

"Enough of that, Majestros!" The large muscled alien shouted in his thoughts. Whining incessantly about your own tribulations will do nothing to help those who may still be trapped inside!" Majestros' brow furled as a large hand grasped a side of the vessel's hull and tossed it behind him. Fire licked Majestic's hands, burning holes into his gloves and sending smoke into his eyes and lungs. For this Kherubim Lord these were minor annoyances, hardly enough to slow or utterly hinder he who was known as Khera's most powerful champion. The wrenching and clanging of metal almost drowned out the coughs buried under a mass of metal off to Majestic's left. Forgetting for a moment that Mars' gravity was lighter than Khera's, Majestic almost over flew the debris and decided to simply vaporize it with his eye blasts rather than waste any more time by lifting it. 

From beneath the mass, a thin arm adorned in crimson armor appeared, reaching for something to gain leverage and finding Majestic's strong hand. Majestic pulled Zannah free and let her collapse to her knees as she fought to fill her lungs with Mar's thin air. 

"The others?" 

"Inside. The cockpit buried itself in this dune of dust," Zannah reported, her otherwise silver hair stained by black soot and red Mars dust. 

"Casualties?" 

"None lest you dally further with your questions, Majestros." Zannah rested on her knees and rubbed her neck where a vertical support beam had landed during the crash. 

Majestros combined eye blasts with tearing action, opening the back of the vessel's cockpit and climbing on top of it. He risked a smile when he saw the blinking eyes of his teammates and friends staring back. "Lying down on the job, Kenesha?" 

"No, that would be my sister who makes a living on her back," Savant replied, raising a hand for Majestic to help her out. 

"Majestros, we'll need a hand down here. We have wounded." It was WildCORE's current leader, Ferrian, who Majestros heard shout. 

Majestros looked over his shoulder to Zannah in shock. "I thought you said--"

"It's just Spartan. A few wires and a quart of oil and he'll be as good as new," Zannah replied without sympathy as she risked her legs to stand. 

When Majestros softly landed against the shattered front bulkhead of the Goodspeed, he knew then that Zealot was wrong. Spartan would require far more than what she prescribed. Much of the android's chest cavity was ripped asunder and his right arm was hanging by threadbare wires. Half his 'face' had been impacted against a computer console and somewhere in the wrecked cabin was his eye. Ferrian hung over the wrecked android, worry etched on his face despite the fact his eyes were hidden beneath a tinted visor. 

"I doubt he is in any pain, Ferrian." 

Ferrian was in no mood for counsel. "No shit, Majestros. Help me get what we can of him topside. Kannon, grab as many surface-kits as you can. It's liable to be as cold as Helspont up there!" Odd colored liquid splashed against Ferrian's dark skinned face as he stuffed as much of Spartan's mechanical guts into the blown out stomach as possible. 

"On it, chief!" Kannon balanced himself on equipment and crew seats to get at the storage bins kept in the vessel's cockpit. Gear meant for planetary surface landings would be inside and depending on how far the nearest Mars civilization was, they would need it. 

* * *

Elsewhere, in an armored facility within the aforementioned Mars civilization, the Watch Officer drummed his finger against his cheek in boredom. The Third Watch was always dull, all the excitement happening during Mars dawn. 

"Any more activity, Lieutenant?" 

The junior officer straightened instinctively at hearing the voice behind him. It was unmistakable, thick with a Earthen-Slavic accent. "No, sir. Orbital way stations monitored the planet fall nearly thirty minutes ago. We are correcting satellite trajectory of WS-12 now but imagery of the area won't be available for another fifteen minutes, sir." 

"Unacceptable. It could be a Trade Ship with wounded, Lietenant." 

"We received no distress calls and no beacons were dispatched, Colonel." 

"Assuming they were able. Ready a response squad, Lieutenant." 

"Sir! It's 42 degrees below and we have no evidence that there is anyone else out there!" 

The Colonel, forever calm, stopped and set his jaw. His thoughts raced but his demeanor was cool, so cool in fact that the very air around him seemed to drop several degrees. He didn't turn nor did he raise his voice; he simply looked over his shoulder and stared at the junior officer through the corner of his eyes. "Belay the order, Lieutenant. I will take a squad of men out myself. Meanwhile, you stay behind in this central-heated monitor room and think about the roles being reversed. Think that it was you whose vessel had crashed into the harsh Mars terrain, your arms broken and fingers twisted sidewise and backwards. You'd wish you could summon enough breath from Mars thin air to scream for help because your crushed legs refused to carry you to the comm station. Unable to call out or rely on technology you sit and rot, wondering if the cold will first freeze the moisture in your lungs or if the loss of blood would kill you first. About that time the shock would either call out your last meal from your aching lungs or the fear of death would send you into a blithering state until you were forced to choke on your own blasted tongue. All because some young, selfish asshole was too scared to get frost on his officer insignia!" 

The lieutenant was speechless, his lower lip hanging out and his eyes fallen wide. When the officer regained his composure, he gave his legs a push to swivel his chair around, calling up several troop to ready status. "Team will assemble in Hall 4, sir." 

The Colonel nodded and left the room, a metal door hissing closed behind him. "Dee." 

"On-line, Colonel." 

The Colonel looked up to the tinted globes that hung from the building's ceiling, the eyes and ears of the installation's artificially intelligent administrative assistant. The Colonel thought his past to be one riddled with mystery and lies and he often wondered what some would think of they truly knew Dee's origins. It made them close friends, as close as man and machine could become anyway. 

"Access Lieutenant Baker's personnel files. The Colonel strongly suggests a position of responsibility and vigilance in a secluded and remote but oh so ever important location." 

"Mars Polar Moisture Farms, Colonel?" 

"Sounds good. Ready to go remote, Dee?" 

"As ever, mon ami. As ever." 

* * *

"Damn it's cold!" Savant exclaimed, running her hands up and down vigorously over her arms. Even with the survival jackets, the bitter cold of the Mars early evening could be felt but then for a planet with a maximum temperature of 0 degrees Celsius, one could expect as much. WildCORE moved across the jagged, caramel colored terrain in a wedge formation with Majestic flying overhead, scanning the tops of the mountainous crags that loomed ahead. 

"I apologize for the delay, Ferrian, but according to celestial analysis, our location seems to be within the lower quadrant of the Cerberus Region at about 1400 hours Mars time." Spartan leaned into Ferrian and looked up to the night sky with his one good eye as he struggled to continue to support the team. 

"Okay, old friend. Ferrian said the hand-scanners picked up a colony a few days walk from the crash site. Conserve your energies until we get you settled." 

There was a sudden and unexpected sound that was similar to a rocket taking flight, a sonic boom that shook the dust beneath their feet and shook the inner ear of those in the group. Wincing, Ferrian looked skyward to see Majestic surrounded in a starburst of red and yellow, his body a faint black shadow within. 

"Or not." Ferrian finished. 

"Perhaps shutting down my sensors was a bit premature. Several targets detected in..." 

"Forget it, Spartan. We can see them." Ferrian looked to the cliff edges above and the bend along the path ahead, creatures with poor posture and poorer teeth lumbering forward while Daemonites in flash suits peered over the cliff's edges. "And they haven't gotten any prettier these last few years..." 

"We should go back the way we came, Ferrian." Savant hastily suggested, looking nervously behind her as she pulled her goggles over her eyes. 

"Run? From common Daemonite drones and cannon fodder? Never!" Zannah placed an arm across Savant's chest and stepped forward defiantly. 

"Listen, Zannah, those 'drones' just waxed Majestros and Spartan isn't up to doing anything but running into walls at this point..." 

"Leave the battlefield analysis to the warriors, sister. When we find ourselves in a scholarly dilemma, THEN I will look to you for your input." Zannah wrapped her thin fingers around the red metal hilt of her coda blade, the sword silently sliding from its sheath on her thigh. 

"HERE is your battlefield analysis, Zannah! We are surrounded on each flank by high ground, an unknown number of Daemonites looking down on us with heavy armament. More soldiers are cutting off our front and the only way out of this killzone is back the way we came!" 

"Looks like our minds are made up for us. Heads up, WildCORE!" Ferrian tilted to his left, Spartan shielded by the team leader's body as his free hand reached for the weapon at his belt. Spartan recalled hearing a sound not unlike that of an oncoming stampede before the air turned hot and a blast of heat was registered by the patch of fake skin that remained on his face. 

This was Kannon, a living weapon whose body was a furnace of burning bio-energy. The thick, green wave of power slammed the cliff wall to the left of the team, rock and mineral shattering into splinters that showered those below. Having lost their footing, the humanoid shaped Daemonites that descended now slid down uncontrollably, caught in an avalanche that also managed to separate WildCORE from the pursuing aliens already on the surface. Kannon rushed towards the collapsing terrain, landing a foot against a boulder and launching himself into a summersault, firing a second salvo of blasts from the metal barrels that protruded from his forearms while in a spin. These blats were meant for the Daemonites on the other cliff but these were already in motion, well enough on their way down to be unaffected by the landslide. 

"It's a trap! They're trying to force us back the way we came!" Zannah shouted over Kannon's blasts. 

"Then we'll make our stand here!" Ferrian decided as he set down Spartan. Savant! You get those boots in gear and see to Majestic. Zealot, it looks like its you and me." Ferrian turned to face the path they abandoned and lowered his gaze, grasping the metal cylinder in his hands and letting it spark to life. The cold metal grip blasted solid protons in each direction, creating a photon pike that was about six feet in length. 

"So it is." 

"Ahem." Spartan cleared his throat, lubricant sputtering down his neck. "I am not utterly handicapped, Lord Ferrian." 

"We're going to have a hard enough time salvaging you, Spartan. I don't see any need in risking you--"

"The point is moot considering that I'll become nothing more than a glorified ash tray should they win this." 

"He has a point," Savant agreed after successfully fishing out a pair of boots from her trademark handbag. 

"Have it your way, Spartan. Let's do this!" Ferrian began his charge, spinning the pike to his side before leaping off the ground into a mob of Daemonites. A trio tried to close in behind the dark-skinned, Kherubim Lord but quickly was separated dispatched as Zealot arrived and sliced her blade in a sideways arc. A green blood facial splashed against the former Majestrix of the Coda and she licked her lips with a cruel smile, stomping on a fallen head and reveling in the bone crushing sound that followed. Kannon ran through a clearing and aimed his forearms downward, firing a blast that pushed him high enough into the air for him to grab at a tiny ledge in the cliff wall. Pulling himself into a crouch, Kannon braced a firing arm with the other and took careful aim. 

"Aiming while pissing ain't this easy!" Kannon smirked and let a single blast rip, satisfied as the back of a leathery Daemonite blew open, spine and vertebrae soaring skyward. 

"Watch it!" Ferrian let his left arm glide in a backhanded swing, his pike lashing out and splitting the chest cavity of a Daemonite humanoid, an arm cannon clanging to the ground. 

"Thanks, Ferrian. Back 'atcha!" A blast fired again, the recoil kicking Kannon's arm into his shoulder a bit as the blast wave punched a Daemonite's snout through the back of its skull. The husk dropped helplessly behind Ferrian who was now vaulting off his pike feet first into a crowd of Daemonites who were clawing away at Zealot. There was an energy blast that none saw coming that crashed against Ferrian's ribs, dropping the leader to the soil in a shout of anguish. 

Zealot followed the dissipating vapor rings of the blast and saw a Daemonite soldier concealed behind a boulder. Clutching a ravaged arm, Zannah flung her blade single-handedly and watched intently as it tumbled and then split the soldier in half. Zealot stepped forward to retrieve her blade but was caught off guard by a thick arm that rose under her arm and reached behind her neck in a half-nelson. Zannah grunted, her teeth biting at her crimson red lip as lockes of silver fell over her nose. She sneered a cruse in Kherubim and shifted her bodyweight to throw the attacker off. The response surprised her as the attacker countered her shift and promptly carried her face first into the cliff wall. Beneath the mask of pain, Zealot looked to her attacker's face but saw only the red -lensed goggles of a Daemonite in a flash suit. The Daemonite nodded and forced her forward again, the rock biting against Zannah's china-doll face. Blood gushed from her nose and cheek and something like a chuckle sounded from the Daemonite's mask. 

* * *

Meanwhile, Savant was racing through space but more in a physical sense than in a galactic one. Having donned her famous, seven league boots, Savant could travel great distances in the blink of an eye. In a situation like this, it allowed the Kherubim scholar and lover of all things historic, the opportunity to evade the opposition and cross into enemy lines. Ending her short trip at the place where WildCORE witnessed Majestic's collapse, Savant looked about, pulling her goggles onto the top of her blonde head. "The biggest Kherubim this side of Maul and he's nowhere to be...waitaminute." Savant fished through her bag of tricks and plucked from it a telescoping instrument that seemed to come from Earth's 1800s. Peering through the handheld telescope, Savant studied the holographic display of readings and sensor data until the green outline of a fallen figure was detected on the other side of a rock spire. Shoving the object back in her bag, Savant rushed forward and skidded to a halt upon seeing the still form of the Lord Majestros. "C'mon ya big lug, nap time is over. There are heads a ready for the bustin' and I know you wouldn't miss that for the cosmos!" Savant set her thin hand back into her bag and kneeled beside the Kherubim who had been most like a brother to her through all her years. Pulling out a vial of cool blue gel, Savant looked from it to the smoldering patch of blackened flesh that was Majestros' upper torso. 

* * *

"Son of a..." Kannon had been covering the area around Ferrian, hoping someone could retrieve their leader while the youngest Kheran provided cover fire. Seeing the manhandling of Zealot, he realized that it was up to him to take action but his position prevented a clear shot. The blonde haired mesh of man and technology looked up as something purple caught his eye. 

A stream of light that was both red and purple lanced forward and missed the Daemonite's face by a singular inch. The masked soldier looked up to see the twisted remains of Spartan hovering nearby, a sphere of energy surging in the android's hand. "Mind if I cut in?" 

The Daemonite grunted and forcefully shoved Zealot against the wall again, this time dropping her as he marched forward towards Spartan. The Kherubim android snarled and reached his arm behind him, flinging it forward and letting the energy sphere rocket forwards. Behind the Daemonite, Kannon rocketed himself off his vantage point, twin barrels charging as he descended overtop the attacker. The Daemonite continued on until Spartan's blast dropped inches from its feet, exploding and reducing its legs to ash. With a thud, the torso, arms and head struggled forward, clawing at dust when Kannon landed and jammed his forearm barrels against its back. A twin salvo dug through the Daemonite's ribcage, impacting against ground and then splashing outward in all directions, carrying flesh, bone and flash suit with it. "Groovy!" 

"Kannon! Behind you!" Spartan's warning came too late as a heavy warhammer crushed against Kannon's head, dropping him like a rock. Spartan clenched his fists and purple energy sparked around them as he readied himself. The Daemonite flung the warhammer outward, distracting Spartan while an electromagnetic net fell from the sky and blanketed the android warrior. With a scream that was at first humanoid and later a digitized mockery of one, Spartan crashed to the dust, the light in his remaining eye sputtering out. 

Ferrian willed his legs to hold his weight as an arm pushed his face off the ground. Behind his cracked visor, emerald eyes looked around for a familiar face. Only flash suits walked the battlefield now. They had been too cocky, banking on past success against the Daemonites and forgetting how to engage the enemy without capital ships, battalions of armed troops or interstellar artillery systems. It had been too long since any of them had fought themselves, too accustomed to sitting on the sidelines and sending soldiers to die in their place. "Maybe I deserve this...," Ferrian whispered as he clutched his scorched side. 

"Damn right, Kherubim dog!" A black boot buried itself into Ferrian's side, flattening him. He began to raise his head again but found it stopped against something cold and cylindrical...like the barrel of a gun. "For Daemon!" Ferrian closed his eyes and found himself unafraid of death even as it came...though not for him. 

The skies thundered and white lightning seemed to strike just inches from Ferrian's side. He found himself wondering, on the brink of dementia, the odds of such a miracle where nature would save him. An emerald eye lazily crept the landscape and rested upon the scene in which an angered Majestic ripped the very arms off the Daemonite who had already died of a fist sized hole in his chest. The corpse fell as Majestros turned towards those that remained, green coronas forming around his fists. "Who's next?" 

Pebbles fell from the cliff side as Savant skidded to join Majestic, an odd object in the palm of her hand and a wide grin on her fair skinned face. "Maybe all of them? I've got a Plasma-tornado in a Can, just waiting to pop!" 

"I'd rather it didn't..." 

Savant and Majestic looked behind them, half expecting more cavalry and never suspecting who they found instead. The man was adorned in some sort of military uniform and even with his helmet, his silver hair and broad cheek bones were as plain as day. It was a face they hadn't seen in centuries, not since the day of his death. 

The Colonel stepped forward, lowering his Shokmaster 90mm hand cannon. His squad of six remained at the ready, weapons aimed until given the order to rest. "In fact...I'd rather you just went ahead and ceased all hostilities. You are all under arrest!" 

"Majestros...it's...it's" Savant whispered, too shocked to say the name. 

"I know, Kenesha," Majestros replied unceremoniously. 

"It's Winter!" 

**------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Next Issue:** As if getting their butts handed to them wasn't enough, WildCORE now has to deal with the return of a comrade who should be dead...but not next issue. Check back first for a story about a Daemonite Queen, a failed science experiment and the appointment of a new Daemonite Lord as Matt Pierce and Image Future Shock present: Sex, Lies and Daemonites!


End file.
